


What Still Remains

by musicforswimming



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen and Boromir cannot afford to wait on Aragorn forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Still Remains

**Author's Note:**

> For Porn Battle XV, off the prompt "river".

"He cannot ignore you forever," Arwen said to Boromir when she found him sitting alone one evening. The halfling was still on the mend, and until he was as much recovered as possible, the Council was agreed to hold at Imladris. Even on her own shoulders the stillness lay strangely, a garment that did not fit quite so well as once it had. She had been from home for some time, though.

He stood for her, of course, and she smiled, gestured for him to keep his seat. "I'm afraid I don't take your meaning, lady," he answered her, but his own smile was too brittle, and his voice struck just the wrong chord for truth.

"He cannot ignore either of us forever," she said, "does that bring the matter any nearer your understanding?" Even human ears could not miss the weariness in her voice, and she tucked her feet up under her and leaned against the rail, looking out over the river.

Boromir said nothing for some moments, but his voice was less guarded when he spoke again, more like the murmuring autumn river than the crisp freeze of winter. "You, at least, my lady, can afford to wait."

"Do you think so?" Arwen pulled her gaze from the humming water, a little prayer fluttering in her heart by instinct, and looked back at him. Her smile was smaller now; she could feel the difference, but still it rose on her face. "I fear we none of us have as long as that, Boromir."

He still sat stiffly, ever since she bade him sit once more, hands clasped in his lap, his gaze on them, or on the distant trees, or anywhere but herself. "I -- I fear, my lady, that I am very much out of my depth." He laughed as he said it, shakily, and she was grateful when he chanced a look at her. "Perhaps my brother ought have come with me, as he wanted -- you would have found a better companion in him, I think."

"I am not testing you, Boromir," she said, and laid a hand on his clasped ones, "be at peace, and if you call me your lady again I give my word I shall shorten your life a great deal."

He laughed outright at that, then caught himself, as if she might order his silence. She grinned back at him, and squeezed his hands. She was surprised, and pleased, when he moved his own hands, too, lifting one and putting it atop hers, so that her hand was caught between his.

"We must help him together," she said at last, shifting a little and resting her head on his shoulder. Even now, after her reassurances, he was tense, his breathing quicker than it ought have been at rest. "No one," she said in an undertone, "is going to strike the head from your body for comforting me."

"I am told you could do the job quite well yourself," he said, "so you will pardon me if that is not much comfort."

She laughed at this, and breathed deep of the autumn air. There was only a little chill, but it was more than enough. "Walk with me," she said, and, with one last squeeze of his hands, she rose and started off.

Hearing him follow, she smiled, and looked back to share it with him. He caught up to her quickly, and she took his hand in hers again, though this time it seemed to surprise him. He did not let go, however, and followed her, without questioning, even through the very door of Aragorn's room.

He sat on the bed, legs crossed beneath him, looking over a map, but his head was just cocked -- he had been listening, trying to puzzle out who approached and where they might be going. Even so, his eyes went wide at the sight of the two of them, and he seemed but little reassured by her smile. "Arwen," he began, and then, "Boromir -- "

"I half expected my father to be here," Arwen said, and took the seat beside the window. There was space on the bed, but she did not take it just yet. It would be too unkind to Boromir, she thought somehow, too neat, leaving him no place in their lives. "I think only Mithrandir might have been a more disconcerting addition to our party."

Poor Boromir could hardly have looked more lost had she not spoken in the Common Tongue, and she held out a hand to him. It was not only Aragorn, after all, who would need the help, though she would never have risked the wound to the man's pride by saying that.

Aragorn, meanwhile, looked only slightly less confused than Boromir. "And may I ask," he began, and it was clear how carefully he was choosing his words, "why, my lady -- "

"She does not seem to care for that," Boromir said, "if her threats were any indication."

Aragorn stared at him, then at Arwen, for she had snorted with laughter. "I knew you would be equal to this," she told Boromir.

"Equal to what?" he and Aragorn said, simultaneously, and Arwen smirked as they regarded one another.

"That, at least," she said, "is a good beginning."

 

He was not what she expected, when it came down to it. He was gentle, for all his claims of understanding she wasn't delicate. His care charmed her -- it delighted her, in fact, and she was content, for now, to take care in return. Content -- no, she was pleased to do so, to recline like this with him in her arms. Indeed, she realized, as she kissed the nape of his neck, felt him shiver under her breath, he was the youngest of the three of them.

She held him as Aragorn sucked him, and thrilled at the sound of his ragged breath. "It's all right," she murmured once again, and felt him smile in answer to her own. It took thought, now, effort, to keep from slipping into her own tongue, as she would with Aragorn. It annoys her, a little, but delights her, too, a fluttering of birds inside of her. "Breathe, lirimaer," and Aragorn repeated the endearment, and even at this angle, she could see that his lips swollen, slick with spit and fluid. Boromir gasped, and Arwen kissed him, unable to resist the sound (near as lovely as the river's murmurs). His mouth was hot and damp, his breath ragged, and Arwen thought, briefly, that all the years she might have would not be enough for this moment.

"I -- " Boromir began, and then a low cry consumed whatever he meant to say. Arwen slid her hands down his arms and wrapped her hands about his. His hips jerked, and Aragorn gave the slightest noise, a hum, if that, one of his hands on Arwen's thigh. She could hear the laughter in him, the pleasure, and she felt her own smile answer, as if he had called it.

All the years she might have -- it wasn't only their bodies, in this moment, not only the pleasure. It was the warmth of the sunlight on the room and the sense of winter crouching close behind. There was so little time, and so little that was certain, after this.

He'd been right, of course, she thought, as she kissed the shell of Boromir's ear, then the corner of his mouth. Their words of earlier echoed in her mind -- we have none of us as long as that. He turned his head and kissed her back. The sounds of their kissing, of Aragorn's mouth on Boromir, of all their little incidental movements, came close to drowning the warning out. She tightened one of her hands around Boromir's wrist, and with the other she reached for Aragorn. She could just graze the top of his head, just twine her fingers through his hair.

Above it all, of course, there was the sound of the river, even as Boromir cried out, and Aragorn's throat worked in swallowing his seed. Arwen shivered with pleasure and yet took comfort in the river, as always, for all the changes in the world. The river still ran, and if they had no more time than this night, at least it still lay before them, a few precious hours.


End file.
